


Little King

by lusilly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Family, Black Family (Harry Potter), Canonical Character Death, Divination, Fortune Telling, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:24:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4652130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusilly/pseuds/lusilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is Regulus Black’s sixth year of Divination and last year at Hogwarts, and it takes a crystal ball to tell him what he should have figured out already.</p><p>In which the Sight is not the joke Harry makes it out to be, and Regulus sees death in the distance and heads handsomely, arrogantly towards it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little King

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to that Slytherin mermaids sign language headcanon on tumblr, and Professor Mopsus is kinda-sorta HP canon (an early draft of a character according to JKR), but the idea that he was Divination professor before Trelawney is all me.
> 
> I am considering writing an alternate ending to this and turning it into a Regulus Lives AU, but haven’t decided on that yet.

            June of 1979 brought a wave of warm summertime heat blazing down across the grounds of Hogwarts School, and most students were counting down the moments until the end of term, when they would be free of their studies to return home to their families for the holidays.

            Regulus Black would be returning home as well, but he trailed through the halls of Hogwarts slowly, almost mournfully. He wished he had known at the beginning of this, his sixth year, that it had been his last ride on the Hogwarts Express. He wished that he had noticed more, treasured it more, that he had not squandered every precious moment from carefree trips to Hogsmeade to Professor Slughorn’s parties to lounging lazily beneath the lake in the Slytherin common room. The mermaids whose sign language Asterion Greengrass had finally managed to crack in Regulus’s third year were especially friendly with him; some Slytherins liked to do simple tricks with their magic, which simultaneously frightened and fascinated the creatures. Regulus thought it cruel to taunt a creature with skills it could not by law or nature possess. Sometimes he’d just lay out on one of the ornate futons strewn about the common room, staring straight up at the mermaids and signing to them until one of his less tolerant Housemates noticed and tugged him away, laughing.

            Not that this was a frequent occurrence anymore. Most Slytherins knew Regulus Black, knew that he liked mermaids and talked to house-elves, and some said that he had met a werewolf once, although that was more rumor than fact. Very few bothered him about it anymore, especially due to the fact that last year he had persuaded the mermaids to lure Gryffindor’s star Quidditch player to the edge of the lake, where they’d snatched him into the water. James Potter had almost drowned; Dumbledore had been furious, but the mermaids did not tell, their loyalty to Regulus unshakeable. He had been sneaking them pieces of raw meat from the kitchens for years now, courtesy of the house-elves. It paid to have friends, it seemed, human or not. Many of his Housemates had disapproved of this, until he’d pointed out that the Dark Lord thought the same way: his allies were non-humans too, the giants, dementors, even Inferi…

            This had garnered him far fewer friends than he had anticipated. Avery and Mulciber and Snape, eyes glinting with delight after the Potter prank, had taken seats on all side of him unbidden one day, and lowered their voices as they quietly made him an offer.

            In the end, Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup for the first year since James Potter joined the Gryffindor team, and Regulus Black met the Dark Lord for the very first time the following summer, when he was promised a Dark Mark by the end of his schooling – earlier, should the need arise.

            The morning before Regulus’s Divination exam, he received a letter from his cousin Bellatrix, sent by way of her magnificent eagle owl named Hydra (which Regulus had always thought demonstrated a rather boorish mind, but Bella had never been one for great creativity and flourish). _The end of the war draws near… we are in need of loyal servants… The Dark Lord asks for you by name…_

And so even the uncharacteristic June heat was not enough to dispel the cold, slimy knot of anxiety roiling in his stomach. Yet with it came an odd sense of numbness, a detached way of seeing the world as if in his last few days of life. Maybe it was. Sirius had always said-

            Regulus caught himself. Now was not the time to be thinking of whatever Sirius had said. _Sirius lies_ , he thought to himself, repeating it over and over again to get it through his thick skill. _Sirius lies._

            Thus it was with some trepidation that Regulus waited with his fellow sixth years beneath a trap door, above which Professor Mopsus would perform each of their individual examinations. To his utter surprise Regulus had managed an EE on his Divination O.W.L., and when he tried to explain to Professor Mopsus that his own inability to predict a passing grade should necessarily disqualify him from the subject, Mopsus refused to listen. “Divination is a subject held in most high esteem at the Ministry,” he’d noted approvingly; he, of course, knew that Regulus’s parents anticipated a successful highly-paying government job. “Surely you wouldn’t throw that away for ‘Acceptable’ in Care of Magical Creatures, would you?”

            Angry at this jab, Regulus had wanted to note that the only reason he’d gotten an Acceptable was that Professor Kettleburn couldn't even see thestrels anyway, so how could he possibly know that Regulus had ‘upset’ them, and in fact Hagrid had personally told him that he would’ve given Regulus an Outstanding – but then he stopped himself. Professor Mopsus was right, of course. He would take Divination because his parents wanted him to take Divination, and after witnessing first-hand the devastation of their disappointment, he had no desire to incur their wrath upon him.

            Mopsus was a corpulent old blind man with a long peppery beard who navigated the school in an enchanted wheeled rocking chair. It floated up and down stairs very slowly; first-year students always nervously waited behind him, but third-years and above were accustomed to slipping past him, especially as he generally cried cheerily, “Not to worry, go ahead, don’t let me keep you from class!”

            Why he had been given an attic-like classroom which required the use of a ladder to enter, no student had ever understood. But he seemed happy enough to levitate his chair up through the trapdoor, and Regulus did not at all hate the subject. Sixth year had in fact been excellent: only four other students had chosen to continue with Divination, another Slytherin, two Hufflepuffs, and a Gryffindor. “Ravenclaws, I am afraid,” Professor Mopsus had sighed during their first lesson of the year, “often dismiss Divination as unsubstantiated superstition. Which it is, of course,” he’d added, “and they will, I can only hope, be no worse off for it.”

            Taking pity on Flavien Zabini, who due to his surname was always called last, Mopsus called his students up for their examination in reverse alphabetical order, which meant that Regulus would be last. The Gryffindor was right before him. She climbed down the ladder grimly. “How’d it go?” he asked.

            She did not look up at him when he spoke to her. “Two years,” she said hollowly. “I’ve got two years left. And they’ll take my whole family with me. I saw it.”

            Something lurched in Regulus’s stomach, and he reached out to say, “Marlene – it was just an exam, that doesn’t mean it’ll actually-”

            “That’s what Professor Mopsus said,” she told him, shaking her head but retreating from his touch. “Thanks. Good luck.”

            Regulus quite liked Marlene McKinnon; she was a Gryffindor, but she had an older sister and older brother, now graduated, who had both been in Hufflepuff. Somehow, this made it easier for him to look past her own House. She and the other sixth year Divination students, Regulus included, had spent many a night in the library together working on predictions for one another. It was dark times outside of Hogwarts, few knew that better than Regulus, and suddenly he realized that he did not know her blood status. He had always assumed, as with all his fellow Slytherins, that his friends in other Houses were pureblood as well.

            He watched her amble down the stairwell dully, on one hand wanting desperately to call out after her to inquire of her blood status, on the other hand feeling frozen still, sure it was better if he never knew.

            Professor Mopsus’s phlegmy old voice came rattling from above him. “Regulus Black!”

            Regulus climbed the ladder up to the dusty old attic-like space. The tall window on the north wall was flung open hopefully, but no breeze came through. Lazy heat thickened the air, and Mopsus was sweating profusely in his comfy chair, rocking gently back and forth.

            “Mr. Black,” he said. “Please, take a seat.”

            Regulus did so.

            “Professor,” he began hesitantly. “I just talked to Marlene – she said-”

            “The future is not set in stone, Mr. Black,” answered Mopsus simply. His clouded eyes seemed to stare just behind Regulus’s shoulder. Unreasonably nervous, Regulus glanced behind him, just to make sure there was nothing there. “And when our visions do come true, it is because we have realized that our fortunes are unavoidable not by fate, but by our own choices.”

            “Right,” said Regulus. “What exactly does that mean?”

            “It means we are what we choose to be,” said Mopsus soberly. “It is perfectly possible Miss McKinnon will live to a ripe old age and die surrounded by her large family, all of whom are completely alive. But these are frightening times, Mr. Black, for some more than most. I believe Miss McKinnon knows who she is, and knows on whose side her heart truly lies. For some, convictions of such strength, in such times as these, will inevitably end in tragedy.” He paused, twirling his wand around the tip of his curly beard. “The art of divination has less to do with seeing the future for what it could be, and more with seeing ourselves for who we truly are," he said. "Many students who have a particular interest in divination – like yourself, I have always thought – are here because they do not instinctually know the answer to that question.”

            Despite the fact that Mopsus was blind and currently gazing intently at an empty seat several feet to the right of Regulus, he somehow got the feeling that the old professor could see right through his soul.

            “Er,” began Regulus. “Shall we begin?”

            “Certainly. Which method would you prefer? I must warn you, I have just now had three pleasantly informative sessions regarding my palm lines, all of which happily seem to be in accordance with one another. So unless you are quite positive yours too will be accurate, you may wish to avoid palmistry.”

            “Yes,” said Regulus. “I mean, no. I’d like to crystal-gaze, if that’s all right.”

            “Why of course.” Mopsus flicked his wand, and a crystal ball as well as its heavy brass holder clunked onto the desk. Then, more delicately, a fine china pot of tea and two small teacups also alit there. Sensing Regulus’s alarm, Mopsus merely tapped the teapot with his wand and added, “No, you won’t be asked to read the leaves, I just fancied a spot of tea. Care for a cuppa?”

            “No, thank you,” said Regulus. The summer heat was sweltering, and hot tea did not sound relieving in the slightest.

            “Very well.” He poured himself a cup and raised it to his lips, slurping loudly as he sipped. “Clear your mind. Look inward. Allow the truths of your inner eye to take shape within the crystal’s murky depths…”

            Regulus took a deep breath, but he was having some difficulty clearing his mind. Fear and guilt knotted in ropes in his stomach as he realized the McKinnons must not be pure-bloods, as he had previously thought; and yet he had been so close with her, such sweet friends. She had kissed him behind one of the Herbology greenhouses once, although she’d immediately turned pink and hurried away, and they never spoke of it afterwards. He supposed it was a dare from her friends – having a handsome, popular, devilish older brother meant that Regulus existed in Sirius’s shadow; those too shy to approach Sirius often resorted to the younger brother.

            Sirius…

            The last time he had spoken to Regulus, Sirius had cast his wand aside and thrown himself upon his brother, furious at the joke Regulus played on James. When the mermaids tugged James into the water, it had been Sirius who immediately dived into the lake to rescue James, but in the end it was an exhausted-looking Remus Lupin whose hexes loosened the mermaids’ grip on James as Hagrid came hurtling out of his cabin, screaming bloody murder at the lake-creatures.

            The mermaids had not attacked Sirius, which angered Regulus somehow. He had never told them of Sirius, of how the bad blood between them was still, undeniably, blood, and that that bond was unbreakable. He wanted to hate Sirius, wanted to spit on him and jeer at him as his family and the rest of Slytherin House did. But that day when Sirius tackled Regulus to the ground, breaking his nose rather spectacularly in the process, Regulus had done nothing. Even with his wand in hand, he could not think of a reason to fight back against Sirius’s shaking cold fury.

            “You are distracted,” murmured Professor Mopsus.

            “Yes,” admitted Regulus. “Sorry.”

            “And what clouds the young Seer’s mind today, on this, the finest of all days?”

            Regulus did not answer.

            “Sight is like a stream,” said Mopsus wisely. “It cannot flow where it is blocked. And blockages of the heart too often occupy our heads.” He put aside his teacup. “What troubles you, Mr. Black?”

            “Nothing,” answered Regulus.

            Mopsus only stared sadly into the vague distance behind Regulus.

            “I’m thinking about my brother,” he admitted.

            This was not a confession Regulus made lightly; publicly, he loathed his brother, wanted nothing to do with him. But in the emptiness of the Divination classroom, with blind old Professor Mopsus – who could See all things, unspoken or not – telling the truth seemed a reasonable thing to do.

            “Sirius Orion,” said Mopsus painfully, with a gentle nod. “Reluctant bearer of his father’s name. Yes?” He did not wait for Regulus to reply. “I never had the good fortune to teach your brother, you know – he elected to study Muggle Studies instead.” Regulus made a face of great disgust, and Mopsus continued, “Oh, I do not blame him – that which most fascinates us is always that which we do not understand, and this school turned many of your brother’s long-held beliefs completely upside-down. His interest is entirely understandable.”

            “And mine?” countered Regulus, his voice rocky.

            “I have already said,” answered Mopsus smoothly, “that you seek to understand yourself, Mr. Black. I do not believe your brother ever encountered that particular difficulty.”

            Bitterly – he thought this exam was quickly heading downhill – Regulus asked, “So you’re saying he’s better than I am, is that it?”

            “Men are different from one another, Mr. Black,” said Mopsus quietly. “None are essentially better.”

            Regulus stared at the professor for a moment. Then he wrenched his gaze away, and scowled down into the crystal ball before him.

            He cast all thoughts of his brother and his House and his own fate, to which he already felt resigned, out of his mind. He focused on the deep cloudiness of the perfectly smooth crystal before him. He reached out to place the tips of his fingers along its cool surface. It seemed impossibly cold, like a chunk of ice.

            Something pierced him, deep inside. He felt iciness rise up in tidal wave from his gut, submerging his lungs what felt like freezing water; his insides seized with cold, like steel wires wrapping around his heart.

            “I see the moon,” he gasped.

            “Good,” said Professor Mopsus shortly. “Naturally. The moon illuminates illusion, anxiety, and fear.”

            “And – a raven. A flying raven.”

            This, Mopsus looked less pleased about. “Yes, well,” he mumbled, not directly towards Regulus. “Not unexpected, at the very least…”

            “Gray clouds…”

            “What shade of gray, Mr. Black?”

            “D-Dark. Thunderclouds. And a bolt of lightning – green lightning. And…a cave… a lake? Yes… and a necklace…”

            Regulus trailed off, peering into the crystal ball. Images appeared before him, twisted, grotesque versions of his own reflection. He blinked, confused.

            “I see my brother,” he said blankly.

            Professor Mopsus set down his cup of tea. “Perhaps you should take a moment to clear your mind-”

            “Wait,” Regulus continued wildly, confusion in his voice. “No, I see… I see…” The shadows within the orb before him began to swirl mystically, and he leaned forward so close that his nose almost touched the glass. His face turned very pale.

            “I see the Grim,” he whispered.

            Mopsus leaned forward so abruptly he almost fell out of his chair. “Are you certain, Mr. Black? Some preoccupied minds can tend to see that which we expect, or otherwise think we deserve.”

            “It’s a great black dog,” Regulus blurted out. “It’s not – I mean, it’s not exactly scary, is it? Wagging its tail around…looks a bit friendly, actually…” He glanced up at Professor Mopsus, whose mouth hung open in a little ‘o’ of surprise. Hurriedly, Regulus added, “But it must be the Grim, I’ve studied it, Professor, black dogs don’t have much other symbolism in crystal-gazing, do they?”

            Mopsus peered thoughtfully at a blank spot of wall beyond Regulus’s left shoulder.

            “No, they usually do not,” he admitted.

            There was a short silence as Regulus peered once more into the crystal ball. He saw nothing there.

            He looked up at the aging man. “Professor,” he said. His voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat, then asked hesitantly, “Does this mean…Sirius is going to die?”

            “All men die, eventually,” answered Mopsus mildly. “I’m afraid Sight is only half the battle, Mr. Black; one must also have the wisdom and knowledge to interpret one’s visions confidently.”

            Regulus’s heart seemed to rise into his throat. He looked down at the ball, but it was useless now. He did not know why the thought of his brother’s death upset him so. Many times had their mother wished it, had their father threatened it, and the Dark Lord himself had laughed shrilly when Bellatrix reminded him of Regulus’s traitor brother. “ _You will kill him_ ,” he had promised Regulus, his voice cruel and quiet. “ _He is no family to you now. Before this war is over, he will be dead by your hand._ ”

            “Thunderclouds predict stormy times ahead,” murmured Regulus, going over his visions in his head. “A bolt of lightning, as to a tower. Catastrophe.” He paused, then added, “Green usually means fertility or bounty, but – it’s also representative of Slytherin, isn’t it? A green bolt of lightning. A disaster for Slytherin’s house, or, no – his descendent, maybe? And the locket in the cave was a means to an ends, it's almost as if all signs point to the end of-”

            He stopped abruptly, color draining from his face.

            He looked up at Professor Mopsus. For a moment his lips framed words that he could not bring himself to speak.

            “Don’t tell them,” he croaked. “You can’t tell anyone what I just-”

            Ever so slightly, Mopsus shook his head. Still, Regulus was terrified; if anyone loyal to the Dark Lord got wind of the idea that he had thought even for one moment that the Dark Lord could be vanquished – much less that Regulus had _predicted_ it – he would be dead in mere days. He knew it. “I’m quite sure I don’t understand what you mean,” said Mopsus soothingly. “I do, however, suspect that you have just passed your exam with flying colors.”

            With a wave of his wand, Professor Mopsus sent the crystal ball and its holder soaring back into the cabinet. As he busied himself with putting away his tea, Regulus began, “…Hang on.”

            “No need to carry on,” continued Mopsus. “You’ve proved your skill quite thoroughly, I congratulate you-”

            “But that wasn’t all I saw,” said Regulus abruptly.

            Uneasily, Mopsus turned back to Regulus. “It is all that I require,” he said. “This is your final exam of the year, isn't it? Then please, exit the castle immediately – go enjoy the beautiful day outside with your classmates – I insist-”

            “I saw a Grim,” said Regulus, unmoving.

            “Pureblood wizards such as yourself see Grims on every corner,” Mopsus reminded him. “Think nothing of it.”

            “It’s connected,” said Regulus. If he had heard Mopsus’s comment, he ignored it. “All of it’s connected. Lightning may strike Slytherin's heir through a trinket in a dark cave, but…”

            His face, once pale, slowly prickled with returning color. Determinedly, he swallowed, and he sat up straight, back against his seat.

            Regulus said, “But I’m going to have die to do it.”

            “Mr. Black,” said Professor Mopsus sternly. “I must object. As I have already told you, we are not bound by the fates we see reflected before us.”

            “Yes,” said Regulus. He suddenly felt very calm. “‘ _We are who we choose to be_.’ I know who I am, Professor, and I see now what I alone have the ability to do.”

            He got to his feet, and reached out a hand with which to grasp Mopsus’s.

            “Thank you,” he said. “If you can, please ask Dumbledore to tell my brother – that is, if he can reach him – I’d just like him to know…”

            He trailed off, letting go of the professor’s hand.

            “Nevermind,” he muttered. “Better if he doesn’t know.”

            Collecting his schoolbag, Regulus Black gave a sad smile to the Divination professor, then remembered he could not see it.

            “I saw the raven in flight, as well,” Regulus said. “I suppose you and I are both leaving Hogwarts for good this year, aren’t we?”

            Professor Mopsus bowed his head. “I can only hope Professor Dumbledore decides to look for a replacement at all,” he said. “The Headmaster does not think highly of Divination.”

            “He’s wrong.”

            “I do not always think he is, Mr. Black. Certainly not when a child mistakes a shadow in a crystal ball for an omen of his own death.”

            Regulus gave a bitter smile.

            “A lake in a cave,” he said, with gentle wonder in his voice. “Sounds exciting, doesn’t it?”

            He grinned at his professor, then turned and slipped down the ladder, through the trapdoor, and six months later, he would die in a dark cave, gentle sobs muffled by the water as it leaked into his mouth and slipped down into his lungs, cold arms and hollow eyes dragging him down into the wet, briny deep…


End file.
